


A Pane Between

by quartetship



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: (Sort of) Merman Marco, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2465732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean kinda hates his summer job, but it does have some unexpected perks...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pane Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WanderingTiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTiff/gifts).



> The well-received "Mer-Marco" au! This went over really well on tumblr, so here's hoping you guys like it here, too!
> 
> Originally written as a birthday gift for Tiff (FluteFluff)! :)
> 
> Mer-Marco has been [beautifully brought to life](http://mintycrystal.tumblr.com/post/97916918112/happy-birthday-q-you-wonderful-person-i-hope) by the wonderful [Lonnie](http://mintycrystal.tumblr.com/)! Be sure to check out all of her work!
> 
> UPDATE: This piece has also been [gorgeously illustrated](http://thechosenchu.tumblr.com/post/101771049075/i-recently-had-the-immense-pleasure-of-reading) by [TheChosenChu](http://thechosenchu.tumblr.com/)! :')
> 
> It also has a (NSFW) follow up piece, [here](http://quartetship.tumblr.com/post/101866848359/nsfw-challenge-day-2-snk-jeanmarco)!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! :)
> 
> \--

A free stay in a seaside condo. An easy job with great hours and decent pay. A summer lying on the beach between work shifts and drinking as many cocktails as he could get his hands on.

Those were the things that brought Jean to the Myrtle Beach area the summer before his junior year of college, the things his friend Connie had plied him with to convince him to spend the summer living and working on the coast. Instead of any of those things though, Jean had received a revelation that he realized in retrospect should've been obvious from the out.

Connie Springer had a tendency to be a lying jackass.

Maybe he wasn't lying, _exactly_. Maybe he was just embellishing the very mundane truth to persuade Jean, or maybe - God help him - Connie actually _believed_ his own glamorized version of what working at the Ripley's Museum  & Aquarium was like. Jean hoped for one or the other in turns depending on how irritated he was on any given day, but it didn't really matter. Connie had been dead wrong, and Jean was stuck in a dead end job for the hottest months of the year.

The job description called for 'maintenance personnel'; that was his official title, one which he shared with Connie. In reality they were both glorified janitors, pushing brooms and wiping down the glass of exhibits until something broke, which was rare. Jean was paid to walk the paths winding through the darkened rooms and massive glass tanks trailing guests to be sure they didn't litter. It was boring, but at least it _did_ pay. And there was Connie to talk to, for what that was worth.

Connie's promises still rang in his ears, almost comical in comparison to reality.

_"No, seriously, man. We're gonna be crashing in a sweet ass condo, right on the beach and everything. You'll love it."_

'The condo' was actually a cramped apartment, owned by Connie's uncle, and sitting at the dead end of a stretch of beachfront properties, where the shore became too steep and rocky to enjoy. Its saving grace was the tiny balcony, and the view of the ocean it afforded. Still, living with Connie and sleeping on a futon wasn't a fair trade for a sunset, even on the prettiest evening. At least there was cable, and moderately reliable wi-fi. Both were helpful for drowning out the echoes of chatty tourists in Jean's head at the end of every day. The cocktails he'd been promised would've been more helpful, but he tried not to dwell on that too much.

The job was easy, at least. Connie had been right about that much. It was Connie's third summer at the museum, and it only took Jean a week working beside him to catch on to why. A peppy tour guide with a ponytail and a tag on her shirt reading 'Sasha' had a tendency to linger in whatever room Connie was working in during her walks through the building, and Connie usually washed the same window five or six times when she was within sight. Jean wasted absolutely no time in riding him about it.

"Hey, you coming back tonight, or is your girl givin' you a _private tour?"_ he asked Connie toward the end of one of their shifts. Connie smirked and threw his hands up in a dramatic shrug.

"Hey, I ain't got any plans right now, but I'm definitely not turning one down if she's offering. Why, you jealous?"

Jean grinned dismissively, but didn't answer. Truthfully, Connie was more right than he wanted to admit. He hadn't expected some teen movie beach romance, but someone other than his roommate to talk to - and maybe make out with now and then - wouldn't be too bad. It was just another check mark on the list of things that weren't panning out about his summer on the shore.

\--

June had come and gone without incident, and with very few days off for Jean. A few broken tank lights, a few carpets to replace - those were the kind of things that made his days move along. The nights walking the streets of the tourist-packed town of Myrtle Beach offered a little bit more excitement, but alone they were uneventful, and with Connie they usually involved cheap drinks and getting lost on their way home. It wasn't much, but Jean thought he could get used to it. At least he wasn't sitting around from sun up to sun down. Work was predictable, and that was okay. And then the calendar rolled over into July, and the holiday weekend around the fourth brought a change in the attractions and exhibits.

**Live Mermaid Shows!**

Jean had been the one to hang the banners, and even then, he didn't give them much thought. Connie had mentioned offhand that the mermaid shows were kind of lame - nothing but skinny girls in bikini tops and fake scales and tails, splashing around to amuse the tourists. Jean wasn't sure if Connie was so disinterested because he'd rather chase the brunette tour guide, or if it was because he knew Jean well enough to know he wasn't particularly interested in girls of _any_ kind, tails or not. Either way, Jean tacked up the brightly colored vinyl banners at every entrance and went on with his work week.

A few days into the commotion of the new exhibit, Jean was following a tour group through the main aquarium room, surrounded on both sides by massive walls of glass for the umpteenth time. So used to the excited squeals of the kids that passed through the museum he was, that he nearly ignored a burst of giggles and shrieks from a group of enthusiastic little girls near the front of the group. When he spared a glance up from the screen of his phone, he saw a very different scene than the one he'd almost memorized cleaning the room in previous weeks.

Mermaids - or swimmers in intricate costumes, rather - twisted through the water of the tanks, just as Connie had mentioned that they would. But Jean hadn't really prepared himself for how _cool_ they would look; thinking on it, he hadn't really taken the time to imagine them at all. Maybe that was what made the sight so striking.

A pretty blonde with a glittering, light blue tail waving behind her tapped at the glass in front of the gaggle of ecstatic girls, and waved at them before returning with a flourish to the top of the tank. Behind her, another girl - this one with a shimmering gold tail and dark hair tied in pigtails - turned in loops under the water, fish scattering with bubbles as she flipped again and again. Jean almost clapped along with the crowd; he hadn't expected the 'mermaids' to be so entertaining. But what he really wasn't expecting was the third performer in the tank.

"It's a mermaid man!"

"A merman?"

"He's cute!"

Jean heard the crowd chattering and stared at the man weaving his way through the water. The tourists were right; he was definitely _cute_. A blue-green tail clung to his hips, his dark skin striking a stunning contrast to its shiny teal scales. He looked tall - bigger than both of the girls by a generous gap - and the muscles of his arms and back were pulling him effortlessly through the water as he waved to the crowd peering through the glass. His short dark hair rippled in the current of the water and the his smile was so wide and so bright that it actually seemed like he was grinning at the _entire_ tour group at once.

Jean propped himself up on his broom and attempted not to be completely obvious in his staring. He waited until the entire group had meandered into the next room, and continued sweeping for a few more minutes, stealing glances at the swimmers in the tank. Every few minutes, they'd bob back up to the surface, and after the group was gone for a while, they disappeared entirely. After he was sure they weren't returning, Jean caught up with the tour group. The rest of his work day was a blur, and walking home he didn't even miss Connie, who'd stayed after to meet up with Sasha The Tour Guide.

Turns out fake mermaids didn't leave a whole lot of room for any other thoughts.

\--

The days that followed were swirled into a blur of bubbles, Jean spending as much of his time as he could swing just eyeing the tank where the mermaid swimmers performed. He tried to be covert about his staring, but it was hard when he got so lost in watching them swim, especially the lone male water dancer. Every time he found himself in that exhibit's room, he also found himself stuck; he couldn't peel his eyes away from perfect smiles, smooth, dark skin and aqua colored scales.

A few days in, Jean learned through observation that the man in the water had dark eyes to match his hair, and freckles scattered over his face, chest and arms, almost invisible until he swam right alongside the glass barrier between he and the crowd. When he did it, Jean could see him like they were right next to each other, and he was embarrassed by just how much his chest tightened whenever it happened near the end of each performance. _He isn't doing it for you,_ he reminded himself. _He doesn't even know you're out here - you don't know each other at all_. Still, that didn't stop him from thinking about how _gorgeous_ the guy was.

Connie let him languish in his thoughts silently for almost a week before catching on. When he did, he was quick to stick his nose right where it was in danger of Jean breaking it. In front of patrons, no less.

"His name's Marco, dude."

He said it teasingly, loud enough that an enamored group of preteen girls in that afternoon's tour group caught the name as well and giggled it to each other while Jean scowled.

"Yeah, ok. So?" He kept his tone neutral, a little defensive, but Connie grinned back at him and leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

"So? Bro, if you stared any harder at that guy the glass would crack." He quirked an eyebrow and glanced back over his shoulder at the tank. Jean looked back too as the swimmer - _Marco_ \- darted past, and sighed.

"Dude looks good," he conceded. Connie snickered.

"So you gonna ask him out or something? Try to get him outta that fish tail? See what he's got goin' on under them scales?"

The look Jean gave him was enough to startle some small children walking between them; all the better, since Connie apparently didn't know how to speak below a low roar.

_Dick._

"Will you stop talking? I don't exactly _look_ like asking someone out, wearing this stupid shit." He tugged at his oversized 'Ripley's Staff' polo shirt, suddenly very aware of how poorly it fit him. "I don't think I could even catch up with him anyway, with how weird their work hours are. They have another show in the evenings – he's probably never free. And besides, how do I even know if he..." Jean trailed off. For once, Connie was mercifully understanding.

"I wouldn't worry about _that,_ dude. I think it's more about whether or not you've got competition. Seems like a friendly guy - too nice to be solo. Probably too nice for _your_ salty ass too, to be honest. So yeah, maybe you should worry about _that_."

Jean groaned. _Of course_ Marco probably already had somebody - someone who didn't stare at him like a loser and push a broom for a living. He hadn't even thought about that.

"You like him though, dontcha?" Connie pressed. Jean shrugged, but it somehow became an almost defeated nod. He slumped back against the wall and propped an arm on his broom, looking back at the tank and at Marco. Connie clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly.

"I'll ask Sasha if he's single. I'm pretty sure she's tight with one of the girls that does the mermaid thing - she probably knows."

Jean opened his mouth to protest - he really did intend to - but in the next room a loud pop signaled the busting of a light, and Connie was gone to see to it before Jean could speak.

Maybe that was okay. Maybe Connie could do the footwork for him and he could just spend his time _staring_ at the perfect body and flawless face on the other side of the pane of glass. Maybe he was completely pathetic, _god_.

Marco made a final lap through the tank despite the empty room, and then looked right at Jean, flashing him a dazzling smile before returning to the surface. Jean swallowed to keep from swooning out loud, something he knew Connie would definitely see somehow, and something he knew he'd never live down.

Maybe this wasn't going to be a waste of a summer. Maybe Connie was less of a dick than Jean gave him credit for. Still pretty stupid, yeah. But he had to admit, this job was definitely _looking_ better.

\--

Once he knew Marco's name, things changed. He wasn't sure why, but just that little bit of information made it easier to look at him without feeling like a total creep. It got even better when Marco started looking _back_.

At first it was subtle, maybe accidental. Just a quick smile as he scanned the crowd and his eyes happened across Jean standing behind them. But it became more noticeable every time Jean responded with a grin of his own, until soon it was _glaringly_ obvious that Marco was enjoying Jean's attention. He made a point to look for him first, catching his eye a few times while he spun through the water and waved to the captivated children by the glass. When the crowd moved on - and even after the other swimmers had left the tank - Marco would linger and just _look_ at him, and it was the best part of Jean's every day. He would spend an extra twenty minutes just cleaning the glass of the tank, Marco grazing his fingertips across the other side.

It was strange to think of himself as falling for someone he'd never spoken to. From what he'd learned from Connie's _less than covert_ operations, Marco was definitely single. And he seemed interested, despite Jean's ridiculous clothes and complete lack of subtlety when it came to gawking at him. But their almost opposite schedules at the museum made it impossible for them to run into each other when Marco wasn't wearing a tail. So for almost two weeks, Jean settled for trading flirtatious stares with him through a pane of glass and several thousand gallons of water.

Sometimes they would point, tap, motion to things and have simple 'chats' that way, but usually they didn't need to - they could almost talk without moving at all, without looking away from each other. It was surreal, and maybe that was the attraction. So quiet was their time together that Jean sometimes lost himself to the amusing fantasy of Marco being a _real_ mythical creature; at least then he'd have an excuse for never managing to talk to him directly. It should've all been weirder than it was, but Marco made it hard to regret throwing his time away in front of a giant fish tank.

Connie wasn't as thrilled with the complete lack of momentum between them. He hounded Jean about everything - the way he stared, the way he grinned like a moron when Marco waved at him - but more than anything, he razzed him about how little progress he was making in actually doing _anything_ about his embarrassingly apparent crush on Marco.

"You need to get your shit together, Kirschtein," Connie sighed one morning, eyeing Jean as they wriggled into polos and waist aprons. Jean looked back at him expectantly.

"What're you talking about?"

"I see you over there fudging your time card. You're too damned busy staring at Marco's wavin' fishbutt to even clock out for breaks half the time. 'S a wonder the boss hasn't fired you yet."

"I'm not sucking _that_ hard," Jean huffed, but then the thought of being let go from his job – no longer being paid to stare at Marco - hit him, and he softened. _"Am I?"_

Connie grinned and shook his head, waving dismissively. "Nah. I mean, not at your _job._ I just like to grill your ass about stuff. You're sucking serious dick at making a move on fishboy, though."

"I've never even _talked_ to him, dude." Jean sighed. "There's a three inch thick pane of glass between us every time I see him. How am I supposed to make a move through that?"

Connie shrugged. "I dunno, man. But summer doesn't last forever. Wait around long enough, and you'll run outta time."

"Says the guy that needed three solid years of seeing the same chick before he would ask her out," Jean laughed.

Connie glared at him and waited until they were out of sight of the gathering tour group to flip him off. "This ain't about me, man. Besides, I did it, didn't I? Sasha's my girlfriend because I had the balls to ask her out. You're gonna blow your chance with mermaid man if you don't do something."

Jean groaned. " _Mermaid man_? Dude, please - _no_."

"Hey, if you guys hook up can I call you Barnacle Boy?"

Jean left Connie to laugh until he couldn't breathe, making his way to his favorite room of the museum. He could still hear the echo of cackling as he rounded the corner behind his slow moving group of the day. _Awesome_.

The most irritating part about the conversation was that Connie wasn't wrong; the final week of July was approaching, and then he'd be left with less than a month living in Myrtle Beach. That wasn't much time to get to know someone, but it was even less conducive to getting something started with someone he couldn't even manage to catch in person. Thinking about the days falling away quickly, Jean made up his mind that he would _have_ to bite the bullet and spend an evening waiting around for Marco like a creep, or try to find out where he lived - _anything_ to talk to him, even if it was a little outside of his comfort zone. His nerve was shot as soon as he walked into the tank room for the day though, and he realized doing either of those things would probably creep Marco out to the point that he wouldn't _want_ to talk to him. That was even worse than having to watch him through the glass like a silent movie all summer. He slumped against the back wall as the guests watched the show, and Marco watched _him_.

Jean waited around after the show like he always did, for those few minutes of something akin to 'face time' with Marco. As usual, between trips to the surface for air, Marco would hover at the glass and wave, smile, try to make conversation with his hands. When Jean tapped his wrist to reluctantly remind him of the time they were almost out of for the day Marco held up one finger insistently. He returned to the surface again for a few minutes longer than usual, and Jean began to wonder if he was coming back. When he finally reappeared, he was grinning almost comically, wriggling down through the water to put himself nearly flush against the glass. He pressed a palm flat to the surface and smiled; Jean looked down at it and couldn't help the giddy grin that pulled at his own lips. On Marco's skin was a short note, scribbled in slightly smudged ink.

_Marco -_ _555-7283_ _Call me? Anytime after nine!_

Jean fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his phone to take a picture before the ink became too distorted. He showed the picture to Marco and they traded another smile. Jean pressed his hand to the glass to line up with Marco's and bit his lip to keep from nervously laughing loud enough for someone to hear him. After a moment more, Marco had to leave, for air and presumably to clock out from his shift. But he gave Jean one last beaming look before leaving the tank, and Jean watched him go, rubbing away the hand print he'd left on the glass and humming happily to himself.

He was always happy for his shift to end, but that evening he left so quickly, Connie had to clock him out for the night. Connie would _definitely_ rag on him for it later, but that was the most distant thought in his mind. His phone was in his hand before he even left the building, waiting for the time on its display to read nine o'clock.


End file.
